Title: A different perspective
Form: Creative, reflective-narrative writing
Audience: Readers of Holmesglen Homily – the student magazine of Holmesglen High School. As such the audience includes students and teachers, as well as the wider school community.
Publication: Holmesglen Homily student magazine
Prompt: Does every individual’s perception differ?

In responding to the prompt “Does every individual’s perception differ?” I hoped to compose a creative story that observed and context familiar to school students in Victoria. The short story aims to consider two sides of the prompt: the collective experience of the crowd is contrasted with the subjective perspective of the narrator. The moral and message of the piece that serves to answer the prompt is considered in the differences between these two positions.
The piece is fictional, but the first-person narration exercised might make the story seem more authentic to the reader, as does the context of the tale to observe the interests and experiences of the intended audience. Other specific literary devices in the writing include a great deal of imagery, metaphor and symbolism, which are used to appeal to the reader’s imagination as the form and genre would demand, and also serve to further illustrate key themes and issues presented in the context. Further, repetition is also used to emphasise aspects and features for both dramatic and thematic effect.

A different perspective
It didn’t seem to make any sense.
The grandstand was full of our colours, and our flags, and our cheers, and our chanting. We were a wonderful sea of supporters in blue, proudly waving the banners of our school motto and crest, crashing our feet loudly in unison upon the wooden bleachers, roaring out in a chorus of partisanship. The school team was winning the final by a single solitary point. We were giving them everything we could in support. Everybody was on the edge of their seat, every eye on the contest in the centre.
Across the field camped the green horde of supporters from the school of the visiting team. Their numbers were fewer. Their colours seemed less bright. Their barracking seemed subdued compared to our own fury. They didn’t hold the grandstand – it was our school, and we were here first, after all. Camped so far away from us they seemed small, indistinct, even lifeless to my eyes.
Not like our amassed host.
“Kill him Nevo!” screamed Tanya beside me.
“Get in there people! Go!!!” yelled a Year 11 behind me.
“Come on! Oh you’ve got to be joking!!! No!!!”
Our grandstand was suddenly up and on fire, for an opposing player was down, and the referee was standing with arm upraised on the line for a penalty. She was shaking her head defiantly as players from our team angrily surrounded her. The noise around me had increased tenfold. Screaming, cursing, and threats fell like thunderbolts and lightning. Faces were red, insults hurled, fists presented, and my friends suddenly seemed like a nest of vipers.
And it didn’t seem to make any sense.
Who were these vicious people? What was this feelin that had suddenly swept them up in such madness?
I no longer wanted to sit with them, or to cheer with them, or to wave the school flags or wear the school colours or sing our school songs. I wanted simply to float up and over the field and leave the mad contest behind. I wanted to watch and enjoy the game, and not be part of some collective insanity.
Perhaps the angels enjoy a different perspective.